


Goodnight Kiss

by Vacillating



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacillating/pseuds/Vacillating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Kathleen, a sweet(ish) story, working on from "Dark", a reply to the Sunday100 challenge “A man/woman is in the alley. She/He's bleeding.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodnight Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> The story started in my drabble "Dark" continues. Another of  
> my 'Hawkeye is hurt' fics.

There he is: a darker heap in the dimness of an alleyway, black hair splayed across the dirty cobbles. Lost in a foreign land, beaten by soldiers who think themselves men, for committing no crime against them.Tokyo is open to all, but the army that uses it is not so forgiving.

I kneel by his side, assessing the wounds with an experienced eye. He’ll live, and with a few well-placed stitches there won’t even be scars—outside—but explaining what happened to the people who care about him isn’t going to be easy. Especially when even I don’t understand.

* * *

Back in our hotel room, I lay him gently on the bed and set about trying to make him comfortable. A black eye and the split lip will heal with time, but in carrying him back (who cares who saw?) I noticed a broken rib, and the bruises on his legs aren’t going to make him happy standing.

It isn’t the first time that I’ve run my hands over him, but in the past I’ve always been looking for spots that would make him sigh rather than wince. He shows no sign of waking—better for him, but also worrying.

* * *

“Trap?”

I bet getting that out hurt him—his rib, his lip... “It’s alright, Hawkeye. I’m here.”

“What happened?”

“You got into a fight, remember?” Briefly, I wonder if it’s worth telling him the truth. There’ll be more trouble if I lie, though, and I don’t want to make it any worse than it is. “You tried to hit on that Major, and he didn’t like it.”

He nods, a little gesture that’s quickly stopped with a grimace of pain. “Tell me the bad news.”

“You’ve got a broken rib and a lot of bruises. And our pass ends today.”

* * *

By the time we were in a jeep, driving back to camp, he was nearly passing out. I drove as slowly and as carefully as I could, but every time we hit the slightest bump he gasped with pain—and when it’s someone you love, that’s the sort of thing that is almost guaranteed to distract a driver.

Now, he’d installed in his cot, and I’m in Henry’s office, about to be asked what the hell happened. Frank and Margaret are here, so it’s going to be the official version. I’ll have to tell Henry and Radar the truth later.

* * *

“A broken rib? How bad is it?”

“Fairly simple, I think—probably doesn’t need setting, just enough rest—but I’d like to do an X-ray.”

“Sure. And move him into post op?”

“He’ll be much more comfortable in the Swamp, if we can keep Frank out of the way.”

“Someone’s got to go into Seoul for supplies tomorrow. Frank could go.”

“Thanks, Henry. He needs some time to recover.”

“Perhaps you should be sending Captain Trapper to Seoul, then.”

Radar’s suggestion was met with a pair of nasty looks—although mine was of annoyance and Henry’s was (thankfully) of ignorance.

* * *

“There.” I finished tucking the blanket around him and was about to leave, when he grabbed my sleeve. “What is it, Hawkeye?”

“Don’t go.”

“Okay.” I pull a chair across and sit, then take his hand. “You need to get some sleep.”

One blue eye—the lids on the other have swollen until it’s nearly shut—regards me, darkened with pain but determined not to let that stop him. “Trapper—don’t go.”

“I’m not going, Hawkeye.”

“Promise.”

For a moment, I wonder why on earth he’s asking. Then I realise—the fight started when I left, however briefly. “I promise.”

* * *

He still isn’t asleep. I’m still sitting here—he hasn’t let me out of his sight all day, and now night’s fallen he’s clinging even harder to my hand. Finally, I slide out of the chair to kneel beside his bed.

In the lamp light, he looks pale and weak, not to mention scared. He shifts a little, trying to sit up, but I put my free hand on his shoulder and push him down again. “Hawkeye, relax. It’s time to sleep.” The words don’t get through.

Leaning forward, I press my lips to his, gently, avoiding the cut. “Goodnight.”


End file.
